Looks Not With the Eyes (12): Return

Fuck,” Polnareff shouts, his voice so loud it echoes off the walls of Noriaki’s rooms as clearly as the inside of his own armor. When he swings his fist at the wall the metal screeches against the stone with an ear-splitting drag that Noriaki half expects to throw off sparks. “God damn it.”

“Calm down, Polnareff,” Avdol says, his voice so absolutely steady that he might as well be maintaining a white-knuckled grip on it for how clearly obvious the effort to keep it so is. “You’re only going to dent yourself that way.”

“Who cares,” Polnareff seethes, pivoting away from the wall to hiss the words directly towards Avdol in the window on the other side of the room. “I can be as angry as I want, at least I can still do that.”

“That’s not what I mean to say.”

“It’s all well and good for you,” Polnareff goes on, his voice hitting a vicious, raw edge that sounds like the beginnings of tears, even if he lacks the human form necessary to give them expression. “You can still eat, you can even fly. Maybe you’re happier like this, whatever, but I’m tired of spending my whole life as a goddamn suit of armor.”

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